


Number One; Section Two

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(One of many looks at how Napoleon became CEA and how he and Illya came to be partners.<br/>Found this on my hard drive and finally finished.  It's so old the punctuation was horrible.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number One; Section Two

The alarm clock went off and the newest chief enforcement agent for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement opened one eye to check the time. His vision blurred, he wearily reached over to pull it closer and when his eyes focused noted that the hands pointed to 6:30. Napoleon Solo sat up and groaned as he tried unsuccessfully to replace the clock on the bedside table. He couldn’t remember why he’d set his alarm, he only knew the reason was important. Unfortunately, at least for the moment, he hadn’t the faintest idea why. Maybe a couple of aspirins would help. He fell back to lie flat on his bed and tried to remember what he’d done the night before and found he couldn’t. He hoped whatever it was that he’d enjoyed it. Too much celebration perhaps, the night was a complete blur. 

Disgusted with himself he made his unsteady way to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, first sticking out his tongue before pulling down his lower lids one at a time to examine his bloodshot eyes. Leaning forward he looked closer at his reflection. His head hurt, his eyes were bloodshot – a fine impression he was going to make – on whom? He frowned as he thought that celebrations were all well and good, but now that he was head of Section II getting so drunk he couldn’t remember was unacceptable not to mention dangerous and he made a mental note to never let it happen again. Then it hit him, yesterday was his birthday! He was another year older, but still the youngest to hold the post of CEA.

As he dressed and the aspirin started to take affect, Napoleon’s mind wondered to other matters. He realized that his appointment as head of Section II had ruffled a number of feathers but there was nothing he could do about that. It was as he was pulling on his jacket over his holster that he remembered; today was the day that he would meet his new number 2. The powers that be had pulled a Russian from the London office. Napoleon vaguely remembered reading his credentials and being impressed. The early years had been glossed over, but there had been mention of two degrees, one from the Sorbonne, in France, and the other from Cambridge, in Great Britain. His record at survival school was distinguished by the fact that he’d been asked to stay and teach a course in explosives to the next class. The Russian also had experience in Sections IV and III and now he was to be next in line for the top spot of Section II, New York. 

If he wasn’t careful he might be out of a job, Solo thought. His own record was impressive though and he had been with UNCLE since 1954. Then he shrugged; there was no point in judging the man. As his mother always said – Judge not least ye also be judged. This brought a smile to his face as he set the alarm to his apartment before locking the door.

Having entered UNCLE headquarters, he stopped at his office to pick up the file on the new man before making his way to his superior’s office. Reviewing the contents, Napoleon slowed to nod at two agents as they exited the office. Slowly he stopped and turned to gaze at their receding backs. His impression may have been wrong, but the faces on the two agents had looked grim. His jaw twitched and he frowned hoping that his agent’s treatment of the new man had not been less than cordial. He was still frowning as he entered the office of Alexander Waverly.

“Ah, Mr. Solo. So glad you could join us.” Mr. Waverly greeted him with a slight reprimand and was rewarded as his top agent gave the impression of being slightly chagrined. Waving a hand to the man standing nearby, Waverly continued. “Mr. Kuryakin, this is Napoleon Solo, your new head of Section II. Mr. Solo, Illya Kuryakin, just arrived from our London Branch.” His sharp eyes watching the two men interact. “You two will be working rather closely together, so I would like you, Mr. Solo, to show Mr. Kuryakin around. Familiarize him with….” Mr. Waverly said vaguely, “you know.”

Napoleon studied his new agent, stance - rigid; suit – neat, clean, and off the rack, his blond hair – shaggy. He made a mental note to recommend his barber. According to his record there were only two years age difference separating them, but the Russian looked much younger. Then he looked closer, the eyes were an intense blue shuttered and held a guarded look that made Napoleon feel uneasy about the way he may have been treated. The blond’s eyes flickered uncertainly however as he took the offered hand and nodded. 

Illya Kuryakin stood stiffly and mentally catalogued the dark haired man with hazel eyes as he had entered, noting the frown on his face. The man’s suit fitted him flawlessly and looked as if it cost as much as the rent on his last apartment. He stilled himself for yet another tide of disapproval and was surprised when the frown turned to a warm smile as Napoleon Solo extended his hand saying, “Welcome to UNCLE Headquarters New York,” and actually sounded as if he meant it. Oh well, he thought, as my grandmother used to say – vy ne dolzhny sudit' o knige po yeye oblozhke (you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover). 

“Shall we go?” Napoleon suggested as he waved his hand toward the door before glanced back at Alexander Waverly finding him opening a folder, his mind already on other matters.

As the two men exited the office, they turned to contemplate each other. "

Where would you like to start?” Solo asked politely.

“I bow to your expertise in this matter,” Kuryakin responded, his Russian accent held a slight trace of English accent as well. 

Not sure whether the Russian was serious or not Solo’s eyebrow rose slightly and he started down the hallway toward Section II. “In that case, let’s start with your office and then a tour of Section two.” Pausing to point out his own office, he proceeded to the next one. “I think you’ll find everything you need here. If not just let me know.”

Kuryakin looked around at the room with approval. It was larger than his last one and appeared to have everything he would need. He’d know better once he actually got down to work. Considering he was now Section II, he didn’t think it would get much use.

Solo stood there, his hands in his pockets, as he watched the Russian look over his new office. He thought he could tell what the man was thinking as it was probably the same thoughts he’d had when he first started with Section II. “You’ll find you spent more time than you think in here. Mr. Waverly is a stickler for paperwork,” Napoleon said, amused by the glaring look Kuryakin sent his way. Evidently, he didn’t like being read so well. “Let’s go meet the rest of the team.”

As the two men entered the large room where most Section II agents gathered when not on assignment, they could not help notice the tension in the air. Napoleon made the introductions hurriedly before ushering Kuryakin out of the room. “Excuse me for just a minute,” he said as he turned back to reenter the room.

Bracing himself, he adjusted his cuffs as he watched the men in the room muttering to each other. Clearing his throat and waiting to get their attention, his eyes going to each man in turn, he said in a deceptively soft voice. “I would hate to think that a member of this organization was not being treated with the respect due to him.”

“Come on, Napoleon. You were in Korea,” One of the agents started to say.

Napoleon turned a glaring eye toward the man, feeling that prejudice of any sort in his department was unacceptable. “I don’t care if he’s Stalin himself. You will treat Mr. Kuryakin in the manner you would treat any other agent. Is that clear? Or would you prefer to be reassigned?” The gentleman in question broke the unnerving gaze first and as Napoleon brought his gaze around to the other men, he was relieved to note that most of them looked embarrassed as they nodded their agreement. Turning to exit again, he silently let out a sigh of relief.

“Problems?” Kuryakin asked as he stood just outside the door.

“No.” Solo replied, at least not anymore, before ushering the Russian to their next destination. Making their way through the communications, filing, and translations sections, Napoleon could not help but notice, with amusement, the reaction of the female staff to the new man. After awhile he just stepped back and watched as Kuryakin, who was nothing more than polite, caused the women to flutter their eyes and pat their hair in place, all vying for his attention. It was not until they reached the Research and Development Lab though that the Russian really perked up. Introducing Illya to the head of the Science Section, Napoleon stood back. His headache returned as the conversation turned technical and it was only by mentioning food that he was able to get the younger man out of the lab.

Napoleon watched with interest as the slender Russian piled his plate high. Leading the way to an empty table, he could not help but ask, “When was the last time you ate?’

“I picked up something at the airport on my way in,” Illya replied as he set his plate down and reached for his roast beef sandwich.

Napoleon sat down across from him having helped himself to a cup of coffee. He looked thoughtfully at the man across from him and was not surprised when the blue eyes returned his look and asked, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do I pass muster?” Illya asked as he licked the juice off his fingers.

Passing him a napkin, Napoleon contemplated that question. “I’ll have to get to know you better, before I can answer that,” he said honestly, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Besides it doesn’t really matter, you already have the job. In any case you don’t really care what I think, do you?” The surprise in the blue eyes let him know his guess was correct. “One of my many talents is an ability to read people.” It was amazing how comfortable he felt in the company of his new number two. He hadn’t really expected to get along with him this soon. He’d assumed the man would be curt and somewhat prickly, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“It’s going to take awhile for you to find a suitable place to live,” Napoleon said as he set down his cup. “I have plenty of room in my apartment, why don’t you stay with me?”

Kuryakin looked at him with suspicion. “That is very kind of you, but I would not want to put you out.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Napoleon said thinking that it could be the answer to several problems. It had been many years since he had a roommate, but he remembered it as being a speedy way to learn about another person's likes and dislikes. “All I ask is that if you decide to have company, just let me know in advance.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, after all I’ve only just arrived. I don’t usually have ‘company’,” Illya answered, than frowned as he wondered why he had bothered to mention that fact.

After they made the round of personnel and medical, Kuryakin retrieved his luggage and followed Solo to receptionist area. Handing in his badge, he watched as Solo leaned over the desk to have the girl behind it remove his. He couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered on Solo’s lapel and resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head. 

“Napoleon, aren’t you forgetting something?” The shapely brunette asked as he straightened up to head towards the exit.

Solo looked thoughtful. “Not that I know of.”

The dark-haired beauty smiled and nodded toward a pile of gift-wrapped packages and a bouquet of flowers that were currently residing on a bench at the other side of the room. “Mr. Waverly would like them gone - to …day.”

Napoleon stared at the pile in embarrassment and muttered an explanation with as much dignity as he could attain to the soviet agent. “Ah, yesterday was my birthday.” 

The Russian looked at him blankly as he gathered up as many packages as he could before heading out the door. Shifting his suitcase to his other hand, Illya picked up the rest of the packages and followed Solo out to his car. Tossing the packages into the backseat and getting in the passenger side of the car, Kuryakin could not resist asking. “Does that happen often?”

Solo looked at him as he turned the ignition on. “What?’

Kuryakin nodded towards the packages in the backseat.

“Oh, not normally.” Napoleon said his face flushed.

The rest of the drive was made in silence. Once they arrived at Solo’s apartment building Kuryakin pulled his luggage from the backseat of the car and was reaching to gather up some of the packages when Solo said. “Don’t bother. I’ll get them later.”

Entering Napoleon’s apartment, the Russian was surprised that Solo didn’t try to be guarded as he punched in his code to reset the alarm to his apartment. He’d notice that the rest of the agents seemed not to trust him and it pleased him to know that this American didn’t feel that way. Setting his luggage down, he surveyed the room remarking, “Nice place you have here.”

Solo merely shrugged as he tossed the packages he’d brought up with him on the sofa. “It’s someplace to hang my hat,” he said as he headed towards his bedroom.

Illya looked at him doubtfully as he roamed around the room. This apartment was definitely something more than just a place to hang one's hat he thought as he paused to look at the magnificent view from the picture window. Coming back around he stopped in front of the fireplace to admire the five photographs that lined the mantel. Two blondes, two brunettes and a redhead and he tilted his head to one side as Solo came back into the room rolling up his shirtsleeves. Pulling down the picture of one of the blondes and reading the inscription he looked as Solo in amazement. “Is this not…?” he asked.

Napoleon nodded as he took back the picture of Angelique, a known THRUSH agent, with the inscription written in French. One of the many languages with which Kuryakin was well acquainted. Gathering up all the pictures, he placed them in a drawer of the desk on the far side of the room.

Illya considered the fact that the man he was to work for was evidently a womanizer of the first order and wondered if he should revise his opinion of him. “Does…”

“Mr. Waverly know?” Solo finished the sentence for him in the way Kuryakin was beginning to find annoying. “Of course he does. He doesn’t approve, but he knows.”

Deciding to change the subject, Illya nodded towards the packages on the sofa. “Are you not going to open them?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Solo said dryly as he went over to regard the brightly wrapped packages as if he thought they might blow up. 

With a look of disgust the Russian reached over, grabbed one of the presents and pushed it into Solo’s hands, watching as he reluctantly began unwrapping it.

Three presents later, both men regarded the gifts arranged on the sofa, a pair of red satin boxers, a pair of white silk pajamas, and blue brocade robe. Illya managed to keep a straight face as he turned to his host and said, “Well, it’s very patriotic.” 

Napoleon carelessly gathered up the gifts heading to his room where he tossed them into the closet. Going to the linen closet, he removed a set of clean sheets and headed toward the guest bedroom waving for Illya to follow him. 

Illya picked up his luggage and entered the bedroom pausing to watch as the dark-haired American made the bed with military precision. He watched in amusement as Solo removed a quarter from his pants pocket and nodded in approval as it bounced on the bed. “Mi casa es Su casa.” Napoleon said as he turned to the blond agent standing in the doorway. The response he got in return wasn’t exactly what he expected.

Kuryakin looked down in embarrassment at his stomach, which had let out a rumbling growl. He looked up to find Solo’s amused gaze on him and he shrugged. 

“I take that to mean that you’re hungry.” Napoleon stated “Either that or you don’t like the room.”

“It has been a while since lunch.” 

So Illya moved into the spare room of Napoleon’s apartment temporarily until he found a suitable place of his own. Napoleon had been right in thinking it a quick way to learn about each other. The two men soon found out they had few things in common, but it didn’t seem to matter. They complimented each other as they joked and bickered back and forth. They soon learned to respect one another and the respect turned into friendship. They enjoyed each other’s company and while they didn’t always have a chance to work together as the years passed they became permanent partners and best friends. And according to some people … more.

 

Alexander Waverly sat at his desk absentmindedly smoking his pipe contemplating exactly how he could best utilize this new addition to UNCLE. He’d already decided that his new Russian agent's first assignment should be fairly simple. Millionaire Iram Armbrister had received several death threats of late that he was disinclined to believe. The latest coming from a known THRUSH agent and Waverly believed there was more to it than a simple death threat. After all, how would that benefit THRUSH? The assignment consisted of convincing the wealthy Mr. Armbrister that he was in danger. 

It was an easy assignment and Kuryakin didn’t know whether to be pleased or not when Solo decided to join him. The two men stood outside the mansion waiting for someone to answer the door. Kuryakin was sure Solo would take the lead once the butler answered the door and was surprised when he did not. 

“My name is Illya Kuryakin, with the U-N-C-L-E.” Kuryakin said as he showed his identification. “This is my associate, Mr. Solo. We have an appointment with Mr. Armbrister.”

The butler looked over the identification thoroughly before admitting the two men into the huge foyer. “I’m sorry, sirs, but Mr. Armbrister will be engaged for at least an hour. Would you care to wait in the music conservatory?”

Kuryakin turned and looked at the senior agent who gave a slight nod before answering. “That would be satisfactory.”

As the two men followed the butler down the hallway Napoleon was suitably impressed. The room they were ushered into was large enough to be called a ballroom and contained a variety of musical instruments. The Russian agent immediately gravitated toward the piano and sitting down started to play softly.

“That’s very nice. You play very well,” Napoleon said as he sat down on the bench next to his fellow agent.

Kuryakin shrugged as he took his fingers off the keyboard. “It is a gift. This piano needs tuning. Do you play?”

“I took accordion lessons when I was little,” The dark-haired agent admitted. “However if you tell anyone I will deny it.”

Illya smiled to himself, secretly pleased that Napoleon was willing to share with him what was obviously an embarrassing admittance. “It takes years to learn, but perhaps I could teach you something simple.” 

Kuryakin put his hands back on the keyboard and hit three keys – E, D, and C. Showing Napoleon where to put his fingers he was pleased when the American quickly picked up the first three notes of Three Blind Mice. Next Kuryakin hit E, E, E, and C, which Napoleon identified it as Beethoven’s Fifth. When Solo had mastered that also, Illya decided to go with something a little more challenging. 

After the third try at mastering it, Solo scowled as he took his frustration out on the keyboard by hitting several keys at one time. He was used to conquering thinks easily and was disappointed with himself.

“Not everyone gets the hang of it right away,” Illya consoled him. “It takes years of practice.”

Napoleon glanced at him, his displeasure with his performance evident. “I’m not used to failure.”

“Neither am I,” the Russian admitted. “I am better at some things and you are better at others.”

“Like what?”

“You are better with…” He paused to think of the correct wording. “people skills.”

“People skills?” What did that mean?

“With the opposite sex,” Illya concluded reluctantly.

Napoleon shrugged that off. “That’s nothing. Besides you shouldn’t have any problems. I’ve noticed the way the girls at headquarters look at you.”

Before the conversation could go further, Mr. Armbrister showed up. Solo stood back and let Kuryakin do the talking. He was blunt and not very diplomatic, but he got the job done. Mr. Armbrister agreed to have protection.

As Kuryakin wrote his report, it still surprised him that Solo had not tried to upstage him or take over the assignment. Perhaps his decision to accept the transfer to New York had been the correct one after all.

 

Napoleon Solo returned to UNCLE Headquarters after being out of the country meeting with other Section II heads and was greatly astonished to find that his number two was currently in the hospital just coming off the critical list. After confirming that the Russian would be okay he pulled the report to find out exactly what happened.

Agent Jim Stone sat across from the section II head, confident in his ability to convince him that Kuryakin’s condition was the result of his own incompetence. “As you can see by my report Agent Kuryakin was apprised of the situation and ignored that appraisal.”

Napoleon slammed the folder shut. “Thank you, Agent Stone. You’re dismissed.” Having worked with Kuryakin off and on over the past year he knew how the man thought and he knew Stone was lying, just as he knew Kuryakin would never ignore information had he been given the correct facts. He just couldn’t prove it. 

Stone had been a thorn in Kuryakin’s side since day one. Napoleon did not want to believe that one of his men would deliberately cause another agent to come so close to loosing his life. His anger at this was such that if the man had not left the office when he did he might not have lived to see another day. He realized it was very unprofessional of him to feel that way, which is why he hadn’t accused Stone of lying. He could and would order a reevaluation on Stone’s performance and possibly a transfer from Section II to say filing, the thought gave him a lot of satisfaction.

Later that night before going home Napoleon stopped at medical and opened the door to the room where Kuryakin lay. He stood in the doorway looking into the darkened room, the light filtering in from the hallway behind him and noted the tubes attached to the frail body and hearing the monitor beeping as it monitored the blond Russian. In that moment he knew his feeling toward the man lying in that bed had changed and more over that he could never tell him.


End file.
